


What came before...

by TheSpartanWitch



Series: Ana'Sehra Trevelyan [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, M/M, Multi, Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-02
Updated: 2015-06-28
Packaged: 2018-04-02 12:05:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4059358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSpartanWitch/pseuds/TheSpartanWitch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Before Ana became the Herald and then the Inquisitor, she was a young noblewoman growing up in Ostwick. With six older brothers, a loving and indulgent father, and a decidedly wretched mother, what could possibly go wrong?</p>
<p>Plenty!</p>
<p>The assorted stories in this work take place before the events of Dragon Age: Inquisition. They are intended to illustrate the parts of her past that impacted Ana the most and made her the person she is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Oh, by the way, you're engaged...

There was nothing for it...Ana was running horribly late, low-heeled boots clattering across the inlaid marble floors of the estate’s main hall. It was ever the way when she lost herself to the rhythm of the dance... _her_ dance. The only dance that mattered in her almost eighteen years.

It certainly wasn’t the one her mother would have preferred. No, the erstwhile Lady Inara Trevelyan would have preferred her only girl child have followed the proper footsteps for one of her station. Tea parties, lessons in discourse, poetry, music, the art of The Game, and proper courtly dances seen in cosmopolitan cities like Val Royeaux. However, in true Trevelyan fashion, Ana had been born with a mind of her own and a will of iron.

The youngest of seven children, and a full five years removed from her next youngest sibling, Ana’Sehra was long accustomed to being tormented by her brothers. She’d been chasing after them from the moment she learned to walk, trailing after them as fast as her chubby little legs would carry her. Pale porcelain skin and a riot of crimson curls could be spotted anywhere the Trevelyan boys were. A tiny maelstrom of energy that inevitably wound up in the midst of whatever caper they had invented, no matter how preposterous or dangerous.

She sighed, sparing a smile and soft word of thanks for Elan, the manservant shaking his head as he accepted the greatsword and gauntlets from her hands. Tia, his wife, and her maidservant, waited within her chambers as the whirlwind of Ana finally came to a stop, the door closed firmly behind her.

“Honestly, Ana...” the woman began, frustration and amusement warring for control of her tone.

“...I’m a terrible person, Tia, I know.” Ana grinned brightly, stripping herself of her armor with swift precision and setting it on the stand with rushed reverence. The rest of her garb went flying every which way before she settled into the hot water of her bath with a wince. “Andraste’s ass, I think my bruises developed bruises this afternoon.”

Tia snickered and unceremoniously dumped a pitcher of water on top of her head, leaving the young noble spluttering and laughing. “I’m reasonably certain that the Maker’s Bride wouldn’t want you speaking of Her in such a manner.”

“Probably not. But She was an incredible woman before She ascended to His side, and I’d like to think She’d have a sense of humor.” Ana tartly retorted when she had breath enough, and began to lather rose-scented soap into her unruly curls. There was no time to soak no matter how much she wished it, leaving her to hurry through her bath with a number of colorfully creative oaths.

Tia wordlessly helped her out, handing her a warm towel and a mug of steaming tea. Wrapped in the soft towel and sipping the sweetened herbal brew, she sat on the small stool of her vanity and let Tia’s fingers set to work on her curls. Ana remained silent, staring forward into the mirror with a frown marring her lips. Bruises and half-healed cuts stood in stark contrast to her pale skin, spread liberally across her lithely muscled shoulders and arms.

“Maybe not the blue Orlesian gown tonight, Tia...Mother would have a fit if these bruises were visible. The [black velvet with the gold trim](http://i58.tinypic.com/2iu7wah.jpg), I think.”

The woman paused, brush in hand, head tilted to the side as she regarded Ana carefully. A faint sigh escaped her lips and she opened her mouth to reply before closing it quickly once more. Ana had known her all her life, and waited as the brush resumed its trek through her hair. There was something Tia was holding back, and it was disconcerting as the struggle of it became evident in the tense set of her shoulders.

“The Athelons are here tonight.” Tia finally said softly, avoiding Ana’s gaze as she set the brush down, her fingers deftly plaiting the unruly curls of her charge.

“Oh. Well. That’s not the end of the world. Father’s been great friends with Lord Eldar for years...” Ana said quietly, trying her level best to not shift in her seat as discomfort rose to engulf her senses. Tia was never this quiet or deliberate. Not without reason...a very severe and disturbing reason, the last time.

“Lord Eldar brought young Lord Savitar with him.” Tia added in a sudden rush.

“Tia, Savitar isn’t that young. For the love of Andraste, he’s-“

“...your betrothed.” The woman cut her off and finished the sentence for her, which was just best.

Ana felt like she’d had a polearm shoved through her chest. Her breath left her in a rush, leaving her to grasp at the edge of her vanity with a white-knuckled grip. The room swam around her and it sounded as if Tia’s panicked voice was coming from very far away. It eased gradually, bringing everything back into focus as she drew in a ragged breath, and then another.

“You knew. And you didn’t fucking tell me.” Ana’s voice emerged flat and devoid of the warmth it normally carried. The betrayal she felt lit her gaze and forced her shoulders to sag. “You. _Knew_.”

“I...I did. I’m...I’m sorry-“

“How long?”

“What?” Tia blinked, confusion writ across her delicate features.

“How long have you been hiding this? How long has this...arrangement...taken?”

“Six months.”

Ana sat back down abruptly, completely at a loss for words, emerald eyes unfocused and staring blankly forward. Tia’s hands shook as she resumed her work, fingers tugging crimson curls into place, pinning and plaiting in complete silence. It didn’t take her long to finish, tucking in the black and gold velvet ribbon amidst the braids and upswept curls. It matched the gown that soon graced her figure, black velvet fitted through the bodice and flaring out over her hips before cascading to the floor. Thin golden rope trim graced the square neckline, while a length of gold brocade ribbon wound around her waist and halfway down each sleeve.

She waved Tia away, dismissing her without speaking, feet slipping into a comfortable pair of shoes that would be invisible beneath the folds of her gown. A few minutes later, a knock sounded at her door before it opened to admit her impeccably dressed mother.

The woman was, as always, gowned and coiffed in the latest Orlesian style. Sable curls twisted atop her head, jewels adorning her neck and hands, and a silk gown that revealed the same porcelain skin her daughter bore. Her voice was sharp with displeasure to match her hardened gaze. “You are late, darling. It is not polite to-“

“To keep my betrothed and his parents waiting? Odd that I don’t care.”

Her mother, a veteran player of the Game, actually flinched. A small victory Ana would have to remember.

“Is this how you repay my kindness? With petulant behavior?”

“Your kindness, Mother? I was not aware that being sold as chattel was a kindness.” Ana lofted a brow and matched her gaze as she turned, having finished applying a line of kohl to her eyes and a bit of gloss to her lips.

Hands folded at her waist, she gave her daughter a look that spoke of displeasure, and gently shook her head. “Your Lord Father was most generous, and it is an excellent match.”

“An excellent match, is it? Pray tell me then, how much was I worth?”

“Discussing your dowry would be vulgar, darling, I am surprised at you.” Inara said lightly, words laced with a delicate venom the bespoke of her anger.

“Perhaps I shall rephrase my query...how much did Father have to pay for Lord Eldar to consent to wed me to his only heir? Was there an extra purse of sovereigns to cover my missing maidenhead? Perhaps another to compensate for my unladylike gift for swordplay?” It was vulgar, and crass, but Ana couldn’t stem the tide of words once they’d begun. The color flourishing across her mother’s features was worth it, however, and she’d have sworn there was an apoplectic fit imminent. Were there not guests downstairs, she had no doubt she’d have heard again about how unfortunate and disappointing her birth had been.

Ana straightened her shoulders and smiled at her mother, venom tainting her gaze and the very curl of her shimmering lips. She remained silent, sweeping past her stunned mother with a whisper of velvet, steps carrying her down the hallway and the broad, curving stairs.

The foyer was cast in a warm glow, lit by candles tucked into polished wall sconces and an elaborate gold gilt chandelier. Near the base of the stairs, with features that spoke of exhaustion, was her Father. She could hear the Athelons speaking jovially from the nearby salon, presumably engaged in conversation by Simeon and Darren. He cast his emerald gaze towards her, hands reaching out to clasp hers as she offered them.

“Papa...why?” she asked, a bewildered and pained look breaking through her social mask.

“I had no choice, pup, I’m sorry.” His fingers squeezed hers before drawing her into a warm embrace. She sighed and returned it, savoring the warmth for a brief moment, before they separated and he settled her hand properly in the crook of his arm.

“You promised you’d never do this to me. You swore you’d let me choose for myself.” Her breath caught in her throat, and she stopped walking, her father waiting patiently as she collected herself once more.

Pain lit his rugged, handsome features, his free hand lifting to touch her furrowed brow as if to smooth away the complicated emotions that marred her features. “I did, and I’m sorry I had to go back on my word. I wouldn’t have done it had I any other choice. You know how complicated things are with your Mother.” He said softly, gazing down at her. There was a world of words in that gaze, and Ana knew then that it had pained him to break his word to her.

One more thing to despise her mother for.

She closed her eyes without replying, breathing in deeply and exhaling slowly. The slow, measured inhalation and exhalation was repeated as a verse of the Canticle of Trials wound its way through her thoughts. _Maker, though the darkness comes upon me, I shall embrace the light. I shall weather the storm. I shall endure. What you have created, no one can tear asunder._

Emerald eyes opened and she nodded, finding a smile for him though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. Cool and calm, she put her carefully crafted social mask back on, and let her father escort her into the salon.


	2. This wasn't my idea either...

It was all Ana could do to not disgrace herself and her family – such as it was, she fumed – as drinks and hors d’oeuvres were served in the salon. Her voice was soft and even when speaking was necessary, but lacked any inflection or warmth. Let them ascribe it to whatever they wished, she was not going to play The Game, no matter what her mother’s discreet glares demanded.

She stood well away from the others, a glass of rich red wine forgotten in her hands, emerald eyes staring out the window and into the manicured garden. A sigh escaped her lips as a familiar presence stole an arm about her waist and pulled her against his side. Any other time, she would have lingered there and savored the comfort being offered. But the bile that rose in her throat kept her posture stiff, which Simeon quickly took note of.

The eldest of the Trevelyan children at almost forty years of age, he was the spitting image of their father. The same handsome, chiseled features, the dark locks beginning to show threads of silver, and the patented emerald gaze. His deep voice emerged soft enough for only her to hear, “You’re not happy.”

“No shit, Sim.”

“Mother didn’t give him a choice.”

“Who’s the fucking head of this family, Sim?” Ana seethed, barely remembering to keep her voice down.

Her brother sighed, remaining silent for a moment as Darren approached and stood on her other side. The Trevelyan men, she noted distantly, could have come from a factory of some sort, considering how much they resembled one another. Simeon continued a moment later. “It’s not that simple, Ana.”

“This is my life, Sim, and the fucking lot of you just sold me off like a piece of fucking livestock.” Turning, she smiled and thanked the servant who refilled her wineglass, downing nearly half of it in an effort to retain her composure. She might have an appallingly filthy mouth, but she’d learned well how to school her expression to Game-standard blankness. “Maker’s breath, doesn’t what I want matter to any of you?”

Darren leaned over and pressed a kiss to her brow, answering before his eldest brother dug himself in any deeper. “Of course it does, Ana, we’ve been fighting Mother on this for over two years now. If she’d had her way, you’d have been sold off to some bastard Orlesian noble.”

“That’s not making this much better, you know.”

“We know.” They both said at once, her mouth quirking up into a brief smile in spite of everything. They were worse than the twins sometimes, which was saying something.

“You could have warned me.”

They remained silent, neither one of them having any form of reply for that. Ana sighed, lifting a hand to pinch the bridge of her nose as she breathed deeply. The rest of her wine soon disappeared and she set her glass aside, needing a clear head to keep her from running someone through with her sword. Or writing to Fenris to ask him for the contact in the Antivan Crows he’d once mentioned.

Ana would have been ashamed of herself and her thoroughly hideous thoughts were the anger not thick in her veins.

The exchange between the siblings had taken a few moments only, and the silence that lingered between them gave the young woman time enough to catch her breath. Thoughts assembled themselves into some semblance of order during those same precious moments, a fact for which she was quite grateful. Even Simeon and Darren took the time to relax, sipping from their drinks even as they all gazed out of the window.

There was nothing more to be said. Much as she longed to throw both caution and propriety to the wind, she simply would not – could not – embarrass her father.

Her mother, on the other hand...well. Ana would bide her time. An opportunity would present itself, of that she had no doubt.

Behind the trio, a discreet cough sounded, almost inaudible amidst the amicably vociferous conversation taking place between her father and Lord Eldar. She turned, a practiced smile curling her lips as she offered a slight curtsy to Savitar. He offered her a polite bow of his head, before glancing to Simeon and then Darren and giving the same by way of greeting. “I do hope I’m not interrupting...but if you gentlemen would not mind, I would steal Ana for a bit...” his voice emerged with a surprising softness, seemingly at odds with his tall, muscular frame. Raven curls were swept back neatly from his face, strong features highlighted by a startlingly blue gaze.

Ana lowered her gaze as she took his proffered arm, letting him lead her towards the nearby glass doors. They had been propped open, allowing the heavenly scented air from the gardens to float in on the warm breeze. Her brothers moved to join the conversation their parents had engaged in, affording them the opportunity to slip into the gardens for a private conversation. She tilted her head to indicate a small, gravel covered path, but remained otherwise silent.

Savitar broke the silence first, a pained sigh escaping his lips. Words seemed to form, his lips taking shape to let them pass, but he shook his head, as if finding them unpalatable. “This wasn’t my idea either, you know.” He uttered softly after several moments, pausing as the path terminated in a secluded alcove amidst the trees. A stone bench was nestled off to the side, set opposite a shimmering fountain that provided both a lovely view and a measure of discretion.

His warm hand rested atop hers for a moment, before he led her over to the bench. Ana folded her hands in her lap as she sat, the velvet of her gown doing little to prevent the cool of the stone from seeping into her. “How long have you known, Savitar?”

“What?”

“How long have you known our parents were in talks about the betrothal?” Her tone was even, but positively frigid as it emerged past her lips, in stark contrast to the warmth that had been in his voice.

“They’ve been talking about it for...maybe six months now? Takes a while to negotiate these types of things.”

“I found out two hours ago.”

Savitar winced, and in spite of her tone and posture, gently took one of her hands in one of his. She uttered a small sigh, her façade slipping as she lifted her free hand to pinch the bridge of her nose. Silence reigned for several moments, broken only by the sounds of the fountain and the breeze through the leaves. Thoughts chased themselves around in painful circles, before her shoulders slumped and her head tilted to the side. It was the first genuine expression she’d worn that evening. “Why did your parents agree to this? I thought your mother loathed mine.”

He snorted. “That’s putting it mildly. But our fathers, as you know, have been the best of friends for decades now, even before they had their own matches made for them.”

“Reasonably certain my father would have refused to marry a poncey Orlesian bitch if he’d had any say in the matter.”

A faint smile curled his lips for a brief moment. “There’s two reasons my parents agreed to the match. One, my mother heard through the usual channels that you can’t stand your mother and that you oppose her at every turn. She already adores you for that, I might add. And two...” his voice trailed off and he looked away before continuing.

“...they were concerned about my secret spreading if I remained single for much longer, given that I’m the only heir.”

Ana lofted a delicate brow, gently squeezing his hand in an effort to prompt him to continue. But he seemed painfully reluctant to do so, and his cheeks flushed scarlet each time he tried to speak but failed at producing any words.

“I curse like a drunken sailor,” she began, offering a faint smile to his startled glance, “I do not practice the socially acceptable archery for young ladies, I wield a damned greatsword, and I do it well. I can drink Simeon and Darren under the table, and beat all six of my brothers at Wicked Grace without needing to cheat. They have painfully obvious tells they can’t control for anything...it’s comedic, I swear.”

“I prefer the company of men.” He blurted out, then promptly tried to will the ground to open beneath him and swallow him whole.

“Oh...well...that...” Ana was at a loss for words. There wasn’t much that could stop her mind in its tracks, but the spontaneous admission from Savitar certainly did it just then. She took a slow, deep breath and exhaled the same way before she tried speaking again. “That does make things a touch complicated, doesn’t it.”

“Yes...yes it does.” He sighed, freeing his hand from hers and using it instead to rub at his face as he leaned forward, forearms now resting on his knees. She bit the inside of her cheek as she contemplated him, turning over the admission he’d made to her. For once, she truly had no idea what to say...or rather, she had no idea how to say anything in a proper manner.

Then again, proper was what had gotten both of them into this. Perhaps improper would do instead.

“A’right. We’ve got two options, the way I see it. First, we go back in there and tell both sets of parents to fuck off and then walk away from the lot of it. Glorious option, that...would make for a bloody fantastic story when we’re old and grey.” Ana said softly, her voice reflecting her true Ostwickian accent instead of the cultured drawl she’d perfected over the years to hide it. “But, that comes with a host of problems. Not the least of which is the pain it would put our parents through. Well, the parents we give a fuck about, in any case.”

A deep breath, and another moment’s thought were taken before she continued. “The second option...we go through with it. We get married, we put on a fucking fantastic show, and behind the scenes, we do whatever the fuck we want.” She smiled at his expression. “I did warn you I swear...”

"It’s not that...Kyrian is one of my best friends, Ana. I know where you learned to curse. It’s your  _accent_ .” Savitar blinked, torn between remaining stunned and laughing.

Ana snorted with laughter in his stead, in a completely unladylike fashion. “It’s terrible isn’t it? I work hard to hide it otherwise I don’t think they’d ever let me out of the house.”

“To hell with that. Mine’s worse. You can tell I’m from Starkhaven.” He lofted a brow, the drawl and emphasis suddenly flavoring his words proving his statement in no uncertain fashion.

The pair of them collapsed into fits of laughter, doubling over and finding it necessary after several moments to avoid eye contact. One second’s glance would set them both off again, so much so that it took them a good ten minutes to manage to compose themselves. With a modicum of self-control gained at last, Ana smoothed out the velvet of her gown and straightened the gold brocade ribbon at her waist.

“Savitar, the...only issue with option two is-“

“They’re going to expect at least one heir. I know...it just occurred to me too.” He sighed and turned to face her, one leg bent to rest atop the stone surface of the bench.

“Trevelyans are notoriously fertile. I mean, there’s seven of us for fuck’s sake, and three of my brothers have started broods of their own. It shouldn’t take much to get me pregnant once I stop with the herbs...Maker’s balls, did I really just say that out loud?” Ana wrinkled her nose in annoyance and shook her head.

Savitar laughed. “It did. But you make a good point. We’ll...figure something out.”

“Do you have someone back home?” she asked softly, honestly curious.

Somehow, he found the ability to blush. “I do. His name is Davik. He’s... _wonderful_ ...”

“Savitar, you’re positively  _swooning_ ...he must be incredibly special.” Ana smiled brightly.

“Woman, I am not...ok. Maybe I am. A little. You’ll swoon too when you see him in the sparring yard.” He added with mock seriousness, attempting to gain control over his scarlet cheeks.

“Will I now...I have high standards, you know.” She winked, tapping a finger across her lips as she feigned deep thought. “I will only swoon for someone who wields a sword at least as well as I do. Wouldn’t hurt if he won the Melee at the Grand Tourney, either.”

Savitar’s expression melted from blushing and straight into something marvelously wicked. “He did. His last name is Stannen. This year’s Melee champion. Complete with a newly healed scar that looks rather impressive from the final combatant he defeated.”

“ _Stannen_ ?” Ana squeaked, her cheeks flushing a scarlet that matched his from minutes before. “ _Maker preserve me_ ...”

“Aha...so you know of him.” Savitar looked entirely too pleased with himself, right then, and rightfully so.

“I have had some terribly impure and inappropriate thoughts about him, I’m afraid...I hope neither of you minds that too much. Kyrian snuck me into the stands for the melee, and I was a bit awestruck.” She managed to reply as she pressed her fingers to her cheeks in a vain effort to quell the heat of her acute embarrassment. He took just a bit of pleasure from her discomfort, a smirk lighting his features before they softened.

“He’ll be ridiculously pleased, Ana. My Davik is quite the preening peacock at times.”

Eventually, she remembered to breathe and a smile curled her lips as fingers fanned at her cheeks in vain. “Then I can’t wait to meet him.”

Laughter echoed loudly from the pathway, a sign that they were soon to have their space invaded by their families once more. They sighed in tandem and cast each other a meaningful glance before ensuring they were presentable and a proper distance apart.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you most kindly for reading! This is my first effort at a fanfiction, though I have been roleplaying via post on message boards for almost ten years in other genres. Comments and constructive criticism are welcome!


End file.
